


Strappado

by sawbones



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Extreme BDSM, M/M, Masochism, Sadism, Strappado, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:32:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10042679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sawbones/pseuds/sawbones
Summary: After hanging Kylo in the strappado until his shoulders dislocate, Hux offers him a chance at mercy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt request on tumblr: "SST (or just generic sadist) Hux ties Kylo in strappado and his shoulders dislocate. Hux makes him suck his cock (or at least uses his mouth as a warm receptical, since Kylo can't manage much in his state) before he will untie him and treat his shoulders."
> 
> Technically a tie-in with [Sic Semper Tyrannis](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7602121/chapters/17301157), but can be enjoyed on its own.

It would not be the first time Kylo had suffered a dislocation; it surely would not be the last. Indeed it was really only the circumstances that had changed, as all other circumstances had. No cannon fire, no battlefield, no sabre to swing. The only blood this time around ran in spidery rivulets down has back, whipped to the surface by a half dozen tender lashes. There was no fight, no war - only surrender. Still, the effects were not soon forgotten, and it was a condition he was in no haste to revisit.

Kylo lent forward as far as he dared in some meagre attempt at lessening the drastic angle at which his arms had been wrenched up behind him. There was no relief from the searing pain, and indeed the shift simply caused the footstool he was perched upon to cant dangerously, putting more strain on his punished shoulders. He grunted with the effort of trying to right himself, his bare feet scrambling on the raw wood; how pitiful he must have looked. How perfect.

Hux put one elegant leather boot on the edge of the stool to keep its precarious angle, and watched Kylo struggle with a cool amusement. His eyes were a flat grey in the low light of the single lantern that hung from the same beam as Kylo did, barely bright enough to touch the corners of the dirt-floored basement of the red house, but they cut into him nonetheless. Oh, there was no  _ war _ left to wage, but the violence was eternal.

“General,” Kylo began, his voice shamefully tremulous from the effort, “General, please. If you would-- if I might, what would you have of me? I don’t--”

Hux gave Kylo a curious look, “What would I have of you?”

He pressed a knuckle to his mouth as if in thought, the black of his gloves an almost surreal contrast against the stony pallor of his skin. He was in full uniform while Kylo was laid bare; he looked dangerous and lovely, and the slow curl of his smile was all knives and needles. He set his foot back on the floor, and let the stool settle itself. It was the closest thing to relief Kylo had felt in a while, but he knew it was no mercy. He began to plead again, his hands balled into fists and sweat gathering on his brow, but Hux silenced him with a finger to his lips. His touch dropped to his chest where he ghosted his palm across the naked expanse of Kylo’s flesh, wracking him with shivers.

In a single movement, he hooked his foot behind one leg on the stool and jerked it out from under Kylo entirely. Both shoulders were cleanly wrenched from their sockets by his own body weight, and the agony of it was blinding, searing like a white-hot blade. Kylo bit back the scream of pain mostly out of instinct, but could not suppress it entirely. He fought to stay as perfectly still as he could, but it was futile, as every shaking, choked breath sent further sheets of pain through him like scalding water down his back. 

Hux drew his vendetta blade, the same one that had carved the AH on Kylo’s breast, now silver-scarred and beautiful. For one dizzying moment, Kylo recalled the bloodied prisoner in the cellar on the mountain - he had known that blade, oh how he had known it, and was he to know it again? Hux could carve him like a pig, strung up as he was. The horror and the appeal were as sharp as the steel itself as they pricked their way down Kylo’s spine.  _ Do it, but do not. _

Instead Hux cut the rope that kept him suspended, and while Kylo had the presence of mind to land on his feet, his legs were weak and gave out from under him. Hux stopped him with a boot on his chest before he could fall on his face without arms to support his aching, shivering body. The sudden change in the angle of his abused arms brought a fresh wave of agony that left him swaying on the edge of consciousness until he grit his teeth and swallowed it down. Tears streaked his ruddy cheeks, enough that he could hardly see Hux sneer at him.

Hux pushed him back with the toe of his boot on his chest, forcing Kylo to sit as upright as he could manage. He then reached down, and with an extraordinary tenderness that was so rare to him, brushed away the tears with a gentle thumb.

“Such a senseless little question. Such a silly little thought. What would I have of you, as if you have anything to give me that I have not already taken. As if there was anything you could deny me,” Hux said, his voice as soft as his touch, and despite all sense Kylo found himself leaning into both, “But I might be good and I might be generous. I may even have mercy. What would you beg for, if you had but one chance.”

Kylo closed his eyes, his brow furrowed in pain and concern. He tried to stretch out his fingers, but he could no longer feel them. Already, a worrying numbness crawled up his arms and he knew if they were not tended to soon, the damage done could be irreversible and the agony was guaranteed to be tenfold - but even as he fought to find the words to form his plea, Hux tugged at the threads to make him lose his focus and find something else entirely. A heat, flamed by the fire of the pain still smouldering in his shoulders; a desire, as creeping as the numbness in his hands. 

“My arms,” he began, or at least tried to. He thought he would lose his sense entirely, if he hadn’t already. His tongue felt thick and useless in his mouth, his jaw ached from being clenched too hard for too long, and all the while Hux touched his face and petted his hair, and drew his cheek to rest against his hip. He could feel the heat of him through the wool, “O god, fix my arms now and not later, please--”

Hux made a soothing, patronizing noise as he pushed the hair away from Kylo’s fevered brow, “Oh, no - no, I don’t believe that at all. Think of it so: if I were to kill you one half hour from now, is that really what you would ask for? What would truly be your heart’s desire? Answer truthfully, and I  _ might _ see fit to set you right.”

What games Hux played, if they were ever really to be called games (and if they were, it did little to diminish the horror, the madness, the undying love of it all). Kylo knew the role he was to assume, he knew what was expected of him, what Hux wanted and what he himself  _ needed _ . It wasn’t a role in the same way it wasn’t a game, but he played along nonetheless. What choice did he have, what choice would he give himself?

“To be in your graces,” he said, and his breath caught in his throat as he tried to steady himself, “One half hour hence, I die by your hand or not at all, so I-- I would ask for your favour. For your blessing. For you, one last time.”

Hux seemed far more satisfied with such an answer, and even more so as Kylo turned his head to the side to nuzzle at the growing prominence in Hux’s britches. With his hands bound and his shoulders disjointed, all he could do was mouth at the outline of Hux until the General could stand it no longer - impatience, not mercy - and he undid the fastenings of his trou and drew his cock into his hand. He brought it to Kylo’s lips, pulled in a grimace as they were, pushed against and then inside his wet and wanting mouth. 

Kylo could do nothing to resist or even to participate without tremendous pain, and even so he tried, for Hux and for the promise of aid - and, as always, for himself. For the nameless, insidious part of himself that craved such depravity. For the part of him that, even wracked with fresh waves of agony and fear, delighted at the way in which Hux fisted his hair and used it as an anchor to cruelly thrust into his mouth without a care.  This is what he desired when he had begged Hux to lay him on the gridiron, and it was every bit as suprasensual as he had imagined.

_ To suffer is to live, and to suffer at the hands of the one you love is a gift. _

Hux withdrew from Kylo’s mouth and held him there, barely able to support himself, and stroked himself to completion in hot streaks across his face. Kylo flinched, even as he held out his tongue to catch what rare drops he could like he was starving. Hux released him and stepped away to tuck himself back into his britches; Kylo listed pathetically, very nearly keeling face-forward into the dirt, panting, red-faced, and hopelessly aroused. He was only barely aware enough to notice Hux unhooking the lantern from the beam as though he intended to leave already.

“General,” Kylo said, and struggled to sit upright again. Hux turned to him, lantern held aloft, the shadows cutting bleak shapes across his beautiful face, “General, please, wait. You said you’d set me right, you  _ said _ .”

“I offered you a choice. I gave you what you asked for, did I not? You ought to be more grateful. Perhaps you need more time to ruminate on my  _ generosity _ . Come the morning, I’m sure you’ll have a fresh perspective,” Hux smiled beatifically, and Kylo’s heart sank as he open the glass compartment and snuffed out the light with a single breath, leaving them both in yearning darkness, “Goodnight, Ben.”

**Author's Note:**

> Send in your own prompts to [broodmother](broodmother.tumblr.com)~


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